


Battle Stations!!

by k8ec



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, No politicians were hurt during the writing of this fic!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 01:59:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/k8ec/pseuds/k8ec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Diogenes Club is under siege! An influential female former cabinet minister has decided to take on the misogynistic attitudes of Mycroft & co.<br/>Women’s groups are picketing the club (loudly); members are ‘running’ around like ants in a waterlogged tunnel, and Anthea is smiling serenely at Mycroft’s agitation.</p><p>What is an ordinary doctor to make of the situation? </p><p>-#-#-#-#-#-</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Stations!!

The first sign of anything out of the ordinary was the crowd gathered outside in the prestigious, normally sedate Carlton House Terrace.

The noisy, loud, predominately female crowd.

With placards.

The second sign was when the chauffer drove him around the block to a hitherto unknown back entrance, complete with radio controlled gates, hungry-looking Dobermans and enough security personnel (all in white, faux-waiter jackets) to make Arnold Schwarzenegger tremble!

The third sign was seemingly more innocuous; Anthea was waiting for him by the rear door – without her Blackberry. 

Smiling… 

 

Inside the Club, the cacophony was almost overwhelming. 

White jacketed figures rushed around distributing ear plugs and answering bells, barks and bellows as the members succumbed to the relentless barrage of sound.  
Gone was the decorum, the pretention and the posturing. This was WAR! The establishment was under siege and it was not going down without a fight!

Taking a seat in Mycroft’s home-away-from-home, John allowed himself a hint of malicious amusement. After all, these were the same people who had man-handled him out of their presence on his first ‘visit’; and whose supercilious, antiquated attitudes were still evident within the ongoing mayham.

“Mycroft,” he said, “to what do I owe the pleasure of this kidnapping?”

The harried-looking older Holmes gave a pained smile at the doctor. “I see your sense of humor is deteriorating to align with Sherlock’s, John. And I had such high hopes of you maintaining a stabilizing influence on him!”

John just grinned. “Should I leave, then?”

“Unfortunately, we require the services of a discrete medical practitioner. Our current incumbent is somewhat … how should I phrase it? … indisposed, and in need of attention.”

“What’s his problem, exactly?” he asked, putting aside any annoyance he felt.

Mycroft grimaced and reluctantly replied: “He took it upon himself to … chastise the ladies outside.” He paused, inspecting his fingernails carefully before continuing, “They hit him on the head with a placard.”

At John’s snigger, an almost imperceptible smirk passed across the bureaucrat’s face. “I believe it read: ‘Down with loquacious, misogynistic old farts!’”

John smiled as he gestured in the direction of the noise, “What brought all this on, if I may ask?”

“An influential former cabinet minister found out about the Club and sought membership - which was denied by the Committee, of course.”

“Surely you have any number of former ministers on your roll, why is this one any different?”

Mycroft sighed. “This one is female!”

“Ah! And I take it the Club doesn’t allow females entry?”

“Precisely!"

Mycroft busied himself by flicking some imaginary fluff from his sleeve before continuing. "You must realize, John, that when the Diogenes was founded by Sherlock’s and my Great-uncle over one hundred years ago, women were considered to have not only lesser intellectual capacity and emotional stability than men, but also to be incapable of maintaining silence for prolonged periods of time. This Club was established as a haven for those in positions of power and influence - somewhere they could relax, restore their focus and equilibrium and generally ignore all other human beings without petty distractions!”

“Such as that caused by a family?”

“Yes”.

John’s snort more than adequately reflected his disdain. “But surely that perception has changed now?”

“In the abstract, certainly. However, the policies have never before been challenged, and so many of the ‘old guard’ believe the Diogenes to be the last remaining bastion against an “Equality” foisted upon them by politically correct sycophants to the women’s rights lobby! The fact that the lady in question - though of estimable quality & a former holder of government’s Highest Office - has been one to polarize opinion for decades, only makes them even more determined to resist!”

“Hence the blockade.”

“Indeed! I do wish I knew how she found out about the Diogenes. We have taken extreme care to ensure only the most discrete of people are accepted into membership!”

Suppressing a smirk, John followed Mycroft into a small but well supplied First Aid room where a well-dressed elderly man was reclining on the examination couch, muttering aggressively under his breath.

“Cedric, I have brought someone to look after you. He too is a recipient of war wounds!”

The sharp glare from the table indicated that no matter how injured, the patient was in full control of his faculties.

“Those harpies outside get you too, young man?” he inquired.

“No sir, I got mine overseas,” John added with a smile.

“Something a little stronger than a placard I’d imagine then!” Cedric replied ironically.

“Dr. Cedric Matthers, this is Dr. John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. John was injured eighteen months ago on his last tour of duty.”

“A pleasure, lad. I just need a few strips of dressing and I’ll be out of your hair. Can’t compare this to your wounds, now can I?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t down play this too much, Sir. It is a legitimate battle after all.”

Dr Matthers gave a rueful smile, “Never was one for the tactful handling of this sort of nonsense. Should have left it to the younger men such as Mycroft. I’m sure he would have handled it much more discretely than I did!”

John failed to hide a smile as he cleaned the gash on the older doctor’s forehead preparatory to inserting stitches; “Just between us, I’m not certain he could have managed that actually. Despite its size, I don’t think his car is large enough to kidnap several dozen protesters!”

“Loses the impact somewhat once there’s a group of the hussies to lend moral support to each other, you think?”

“Definitely! And from the sounds of it, I don’t think Anthea and her Blackberry would intimidate them either.”

Cedric shuddered. “She scares the living daylights out of me! Could easily give my wife a run for the money in cool, calculated efficiency too! It’s nerve wracking!”

John eyed him closely. 

“That’s the real reason the other ‘candidate’ was rejected, isn’t it? You’re all too intimidated by the thought of a strong woman ruining your cosy hideaway!” he stated with a stern look as his elderly colleague fiddled with the dressing.

“She wasn’t called the ‘Iron Lady’ as a joke, lad! I’ve met killer guard dogs that I’d prefer to have tea with on a regular basis!”

John’s eyes widened. “Oh, THAT former female politician!”

Cedric nodded glumly. “The woman’s more than getting on in years – she must be even more decrepit than I. You’d think she’d give up on this sort of confrontational behaviour!”

“Maybe she’s … I don’t know… bored?”

“Then why the dickens doesn’t she go and organize herself a knitting circle or book club and leave us in peace! Invade America, Nicaragua or some other place in need of a firm hand and a decent cup of tea!!”

“Now Cedric,” Mycroft replied, returning from a short discussion with Anthea, “You should not allow your blood pressure to become elevated! I’m certain this will all be sorted out in the next few days and our equilibrium will be restored.”

“Hhmph!”

“Right. I’m done then,” John added to break the building tension, “I don’t have to tell you not to get the dressings wet and to leave them on for a few days before checking the stitches. Just paracetemol for the pain, and try to take it easy – no more head-butting protesters.”

“I was dealing with wounds and protesters before you were out of nappies, boy!” was the grumpy reply.

“And look where that got you!”

Dr Matthers smiled reluctantly. “It has been a rather welcome change of pace today - didn’t realize I missed the old days so much.”

“Old days?” John enquired, picking up on levels of hidden meaning behind the words.

“Cedric was the head of a … minor … Government department for several decades, John. A position from which he had to report directly to the Lady herself.” 

John raised his eyebrows as Mycroft actually failed to suppress a shudder at the thought.

“Once was more than enough for a lifetime, I can assure you!” the elderly man affirmed.

Mycroft inclined his head with a slight smile, “A sentiment which is more than reciprocated, if my sources are correct.”

“And yet here you all are!” John added.

After the resulting embarrassed silence, he packed up his kit and moved towards the door. “Right. I’ll just be leaving then, shall I?”

“Thank you, John. My apologies for the lack of notice. Anthea will see you out.”

“How is it that Anthea is allowed here, yet I have never seen any other woman on the premises?” John asked.

“Dear boy! Without her assistance there would have been no possible way for Mycroft to take over the handling of the situation today! Besides, the girl makes less sound than the rest of us combined!”

Still in the doorway of the room, John shook his head in bemusement as the ‘White-coats’ scrambled to place cushions and mattresses between the windows and the heavy brocade drapes – extra sound-proofing, he assumed. Given the increased volume of the chanted slogans, he realized that the protesters must have drawn on additional forces after the close of business.

 

Anthea motioned briefly towards the rear entrance before returning to her texting.

John frowned, puzzling over aspects of the situation that had been bothering him as they walked.

“How do you know the Baroness?” he asked Mycroft’s assistant directly.

She raised a perfectly sculptured eyebrow at him, pausing her messaging. 

“What makes you think I know her?” she inquired politely.

“Oh, I don’t know … your general smug attitude today, your unusually contented demeanor, the way you were smiling maliciously while watching the ‘White Coats’ run around…? Should I continue?”

“Not necessary, Dr Watson” she replied, smiling broadly.

“You still haven’t told me how you organized this.” John added with a wave of his arm. 

Anthea steered them into a Butler’s pantry near the kitchen before replying. 

“The Baroness is my mother’s Godmother, I’ve known her forever! I made a disparaging remark about the ‘Boy’s Club’ in her presence once and she knew instantly to what I was referring! She told me she had always been looking for an excuse to ‘ruffle a few of the old fossils’ feathers’. This seemed like a perfect opportunity!”

John glanced sideways at her as she checked to ensure the absence of any staff.

“Mycroft postpone your holidays again?” he asked shrewdly.

She grinned. “Third time this year! Hence the big guns.”

“How much longer until he capitulates?”

“Hmmm! … Probably another two days before he cedes the battle.”

“So I should consider myself on standby until then?”

“Seems like a good idea”.

“Right then,” John smiled in agreement as they reached the car, Anthea assuming her official persona once more. “Take care Mycroft doesn’t get his head banged in”. 

“Definitely. That wouldn’t suit my plans at all!” she returned with a wide grin and a slight wave, before turning smartly on her heal and returning to the fray.

“Although that would pull Sherlock out of his boredom at least!” John commented to himself wryly as he settled back into the plush leather seat. 

He grinned at the thought of Mycroft being bested at his own game. For once Mycroft would have to immerse himself directly in the battle rather than manipulating the outcome from the sidelines.

Short of kidnapping the man, this was certainly the most amusing way to make one’s point, he thought, making a note to pay closer attention to the news for the next few days.

Go Anthea!

 

-#-#-#-#-#-

**Author's Note:**

> The former politician referred to in the story is The Right Honourable Baroness Margaret Hilda Thatcher [b: 13 October 1925], former leader of the Conservative Party and British Prime Minister from 1979–1990. Her 'nickname' was ‘The Iron Lady’.


End file.
